


A Radio Host Is Unusually Tenacious

by Sorida



Series: Tales From the Vale...s? [3]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil is a Whiny Bitch, ENJOY IT, I don't know, I'm not done yet, M/M, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, although i gotta say, and i'm one of the idiots who live in it, and it's ours, and rain that creates existential crises, and when steve carlsberg is mentioned, because it's hella fun, but we're an important part here, but with cecil, but yeah, cecil is sick, for your lives are puny and meaningless in the scheme of all things, hey look tag vomit, i could be lying, i have logic!, i haven't started writing yet, i kinda wanna do more exorcist cecil, it's a big universe, it's a companion fic, kind of, like the real joseph fink, my logic is kinda cecil logic, no demons, oh i should devote a oneshot to cecil logic, or maybe he will, ps he won't be mentioned, sick boyfriends again, so you get existentialism instead, sorry no possessions this time, that's why i made a series!, when he's sick, with atypical weather patterns, woooo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:29:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2411654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorida/pseuds/Sorida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had already happened to Carlos, so Cecil really should have seen it coming. But then he was out reporting on the sudden torrential downpour and it was nearing Night Vale's cooler season and honestly, Carlos was so cute when he was doing science that Cecil didn't want to bother him with something so insignificant...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Just Rain"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all knew it had to be done. Somehow, this spiraled out of control into a multichapter (that I definitely wasn't counting on) because for some reason, I really wanted a long intro into Sick!Cecil. Once again, hopefully I can take y'all on another twisty middle road. Well, here we go. Writing muse, whisk me off into the non-existent sunset.

There are those days and there are  _those_ days. There are those days when your eyes gently flutter open to the magnificent sight of your perfectly imperfect boyfriend dozing beside you as the sun filters in through the half-open shades nearly fifteen minutes later than the day before. And you simply smile because life, while pointless, is wonderful the way it is and you have someone wonderful to share it all with. So you get up, go to the job you love, drink the standard ten cups of coffee throughout the day, and head home to the welcoming, warm arms of your perfectly imperfect boyfriend. Those days are fantastic, filled with adventure and terror, and usually end in cuddles and happiness.

And then...there are  _those_ days when the sun does not shine, the moon is not beautiful, and everyone is pissed the frick frack off for no good reason. Well, not everyone is pissed off, just you, because you feel like crap and damn it, sick days are  _not_ written into your contract and it's like that for a reason! So either Station Management really screwed you over that last contract day or that demon who possessed your boyfriend not too long ago had a more powerful friend and called in a favor to make one radio host as miserable as possible.

Yep, Cecil was definitely having one of  _those_ days and...actually, it kind of started the day before. You know, like, in the middle of those days and  _those_ days. I supposed it'd be written as  _tho_ se days or maybe even th _ose_ days. Whatever the case, the "O" is definitely italicized. Don't argue with the author.

Cecil's day had been going pretty darn well. The sky was a nice mix of aquamarine and #c546b6 (on your standard Night Vale color wheel) and it was approaching Night Vale's annual Sweater Weather. Contrary to popular belief, Cecil very much enjoyed the cooler weather the later months brought. It meant being able to wrap himself in nice, down bedding and having extra cuddle time with a very smart, attractive scientist. It got to the point where Cecil would literally map out their cuddle time in his personal planner and the occasional scribble of "Carlos Cuddles <3" in his Little Reporter's Book of Big-Boy Note-Taking. So all in all, cooler weather was pretty neat!

He sighed happily, taking a sip of his coffee as he walked towards the radio station. The radio schedule could be overwhelming at times, forcing Cecil to wake up at ungodly hours and forcing him to stay awake until said ungodly hour the next day. Other times, it was flexible and he had the freedom to choose when to go in for work and how long he'd stay after the show. So far, today had been very "pick and choose," to which the radio host was very fortunate for. He was hoping to pick up a little something for Carlos and then they could spend a nice night together just cuddling and watching random documentaries on Netflix. That one with beings called "Kaiju" and giant robots was  _fascinating._

Pushing open the door to the station with his shoulder, Cecil made his way past the information desk, through the self-depreciating haze of Station Management's territory, and strode into his familiar recording booth. No matter what, he could always call this place home. If he was having his bi-weekly existential crisis, he could crawl under his desk and wait it out. If, for some terrible and completely OOC reason, he didn't feel welcome at his and Carlos' apartment, then he'd definitely go to the station and sleep on the floor of his booth. Sure, it wasn't exactly the most comfortable bed, but Cecil kept a thin blanket in the desk just in case and the cushion on his seat was removable and acted as a pretty decent pillow. Plus, it helped to have the ability to sleep anywhere. If someone hung him up by his thumbs, he could still find a way to get a good night's sleep.

As he casually draped his thin jacket over his chair, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Turning around, he smiled at the intern standing before him. They...well, their features were quite ambiguous and he couldn't really tell if this intern was male, female, or otherwise. Their name tag read "Riley," which could really be taken both ways, so that wasn't much of a help. Oh well, he'd just watch the pronouns and ask about specifics when they looked less terrified about the world and their place in the universe.

"Hello," Cecil greeted, "Welcome to the station!" As he spoke, he spread his arms out in a grandiose gesture. Intern Riley simply nodded and handed him a file. "Oh? Is this news, traffic, the calendar, or another electricity-eating-paper that someone's sending me as a completely not hilarious prank?" Dear Void, that last fiasco was  _dreadful._ At least he'd received some interesting scars from it. They made him feel like that magical boy from Carlos' book series. What were they? Something about pottery...

"None of the above," the intern replied, practically pushing the folder at Cecil. "Look, I don't even want to be here, but my parents don't give two shits and some Hooded Figure that I'm not supposed to talk to or acknowledge whispered something about potential and I didn't have a choice and please Mr. Palmer, I don't want to  _die_ and I'm pretty sure this thing has some sort of flesh-eating bacteria on it and I don't want to go to the Night Vale Public Library! Please don't make me go!" Intern Riley then screamed something about Shakespeare and  _Jane Eyre_ and ran off, abandoning the folder at Cecil's feet. With a slight frown, he bent down and retrieved the file. Hopefully, Intern Riley would make it back so he could properly introduce them on the show. He really hoped he wouldn't have to report on another Librarian casualty, it just dampened the mood and the Intern Break Room's memorial shrine was getting far too cramped for any of their likings.

Flipping through the papers (thankfully devoid of any energy-sucking creatures), his frown deepened. Apparently, the scientists were predicting that a rainstorm would hit Night Vale sometime during the evening. Station Management left their usual black squiggle at the bottom of the page, indicating that they wanted Cecil to report on the happenings of this rainstorm and that he didn't have a choice in the matter. He sighed, tossing the file onto his desk. Great, plans with Carlos were out. They'd just have to wait until tomorrow to do anything fun.

He pulled his new iPhone out of his pocket. His last one nearly went on a blood rage and he'd been forced to sacrifice it to the station's generator in order to save himself and possibly the entire station from harm. Opening up the messaging app, Cecil opened his texting chat with Carlos. With his tongue slightly sticking out of the edge of his mouth, he typed.

_evening ruined by SM >(8P)OOO meanies >.<_

His eyes skimmed the report once more until his phone buzzed with a reply.

_It's ok. Actually, us scientists have a lot to do right now. I'm sure you've heard of the impending rainstorm by now, yes?_

_yep. intern riley gave me the info *(O.o)*_

_Intern Riley? Have I met them before?_

_probs not, think they were new..._

_Anyways, this fascinating rainstorm: so as you know, Night Vale has a bit of a rainy season during the later autumn months. From my time in Night Vale, it's never just been rain. I mean, how could it just be rain? That is scientifically unsound. But we're taking a closer look at this storm and we think that it is, in fact, just rain. We're not entirely sure of what this means, but everyone should stay inside for the duration of the storm. That means you too Cecil. I love you, but I don't trust you not to go out during this. You have the self-preservation of a suicidal masochist._

_awe that's so sweet! (^o^) <3_

_Cecil, I mean it, stay inside the radio station and do not come out for anything._

_kk i promise ;)_

_...You didn't cross your fingers and chant the appropriate backwards Latin, did you?_

_nooooooo_

_You hesitated in your response._

_...fine. i really promise this time, ok? [X3)+ <_

_Ok. I'll see you tonight. I love you._

_ok! ilu 2 <3_

Great, now he had some more information to work with. So the storm was coming in fast and it wasn't going to be like last year's hail of zirconium and drill bits. Last year's storms were particularly bad and it led to all of Night Vale's roofs being reinforced with whatever platinum they could find. Still, it could have been worse. It could have been like the Halloween Storm of '77...

Wow. That had been an interesting year and hey, everyone had been granted some sort of psychic power. Only a small fraction of the town still retained theirs, but it was fun while it lasted.

But back to the present: storm. Rain. Just rain. What did "just rain" even mean? Did it mean the usual Night Vale rain of mauve and depression? Or something more along the lines of what Pine Cliff received: a startling realization of the fragility of life and how, as ghosts, they were simply forced to watch the world live and die for all eternity. He shuddered to think of what storms were like in Desert Bluffs, probably infused with blood and viscera and human teeth. Ew. No. Gross.

All these thoughts were running through his head as he composed his script. He wasn't fearful of the phenomenon, simply curious. What was "just rain?" Was it nice? Did it sound pretty, like the Weather usually did? Would it instigate happiness or deep, gut-wrenching sorrow and emptiness? Was is government mandated? Was it even caused by the government?

While he couldn't voice the questions aloud on-air, lest he receive yet another re-education session, he instead voiced them to Khoshekh during his free time. He'd managed to finish putting the show together and now, all he had to do was wait and refill his coffee. Intern Riley had yet to return, although Cecil swore he managed to catch a glimpse of them leaving Big Rico's as he'd entered the establishment for lunch. Scratching Khoshekh's ear affectionately, he smiled.

"I just don't know what's happening," he admitted to the close-enough-to-be-a feline. Khosehkh blinked. "I mean, you know me, I don't know a whole lot and this is so out of my element. Like, it's not like it rains every day! And Carlos has been sending me some very cryptic texts like 'stay out of the rain' and 'it's not fun' and that kind of stuff. But can it really be that bad? Carlos did say it was 'just rain' and 'just rain' to Carlos means normal, right? Well, normal in any other place but here." Khoshekh meowed. "Oh yes, and then there's that issue. I'm a reporter, I'm going to have to get some firsthand experience with this storm. And Station Management has been rather pushy lately about taking the show out of the studio and into every event and news story. When it comes down to it, I'm not going to have much of a choice..."

He watched as Khoshekh flicked his tail and pawed at the air. "I can't do that though," he sighed. "On one hand, I made a promise to Carlos and if I break it then I'll be breaking his trust and that's never good for a relationship. On the other appendage, Station Management will make some...unpleasant changes to my contract and I may not see Carlos more than twice a week. I can't do that. I can't do either!" Cecil ran a hand through his hair. "Oh Khoshekh, if only I could switch places with you and float in the same fixed point of time and space and know that I truly belong there with my family floating around me. You don't know how lucky you are, you cute little kitty." Khoshekh growled in affection just as Cecil checked his watch.

"It's time for the show," he announced, giving Khoshekh's ear one last scratch. "Wish me luck." As the bathroom door swung closed, Khoshekh let out a frustrated groan. His so-called "master" was nice, but sometimes, he really didn't know when to shut up about his personal life. Seriously, he'd been rambling for over an hour! Give a cat a break!

The show began without an difficulties. Each segment flowed seamlessly into the next, as usual, and Cecil quickly stopped worrying about the "just rain" storm. But just as he was about to talk about your health, there was a pounding at the booth's plexiglass window. Cecil turned and caught a glimpse of a very wet Intern Riley. He was relieved to see this intern still living and quickly switched to a recorded sponsor as he got up to let the teen inside. Upon closer inspection, Intern Riley was stone cold, soaked, and muttering incoherently. Cecil quickly led the intern over to a corner of the booth, grabbed his emergency blanket (for all mental breakdowns, existential crises, and lonely nights), and draped it around their shivering body. Rubbing their arms in a soothing motion, Cecil knelt to their level and spoke.

"Intern Riley," he started. "What happened to you? Why are you wet? And, I don't know if this is a bad time to ask, what pronouns do you prefer?"

"It is darkest when their is light..." the intern mumbled. "It is lightest when their is dark...only those who have loved and lost everything can see the way of the universe." Their right eye twitched. "The unravelling of all things is upon us. We can only hope and beg for mercy, beg a merciless being for our safety. It is the was of the universe. It is...it is..." With that, the intern's eyes rolled into the back of their head and their body gave a great shudder before going completely slack. Pressing two fingers to their neck, Cecil relaxed as he felt a pulse and quickly returned to his spot in front of the mic. There wasn't much else he could do for them anyways.

"More news on the storm," he informed, chancing a glance back at the unconscious intern. Reassured that they were still unconscious and not going to scare him anytime soon, he turned back to the microphone. "It appears that this storm is simply...water. I don't know about you, listeners, but come on. Water falling from the sky? Unheard of!" He ignored the sudden pain in his head and how the words sounded wrong on his tongue. He pushed those feelings aside and continued. "But it appears something else is happening out there. I am receiving more information and it appears that Intern Riley isn't the only one experiencing this strange phenomenon. Anyone who is exposed to the rain appear to be...infused with the knowledge of 'the unravelling of the universe.' I do not know what this means. Being a reporter, I know very little. But this is appears to be more than the usual existential crises we are plagued with daily. More on this as it-"

_"Cecil..."_

He froze. The whisper sent chills up his spine. He wanted to turn around and find the source of the voice yet at the same time, he wanted to spare himself the horror and stay in blissful ignorance. Being raised in Night Vale definitely made it easier to ignore and he quickly set his attention back on the broadcast.

"Sorry listeners," he apologized with a chuckle. "It seems that I lost my train of thought. Anyways, the storm doesn't appear to be doing much else aside from the-"

_"Cecil Palmer..."_

Without a doubt, that was definitely someone saying his name. It wasn't a figment of his overactive imagination and he couldn't write it off as so because  _he knew that voice._ But...but she wasn't around anymore. She was ceased or gone or on an extended business trip...

_"Cecil Gershwin Palmer."_

...That lasted over thirty-two years.

This time, he couldn't help himself. Cecil turned to face the door. For some reason, it was wide open. Intern Riley was still bundled up in the corner. Fog was wafting through the doorway, flickering ominously off the fluorescent lighting. Needless to say, he was entranced with it.

Slowly, he removed his headphones and stood up. Microphone still in hand, he cautiously made his way towards the door. Somewhere on his desk, right next to his half-filled coffee cup, his phone vibrated. He ignored it.

He walked out into the hallway, following the pull of the unfamiliar-yet-familiar voice. A tug on the microphone brought him out of his reverie enough to mumble something about the Weather and switch over his listeners to its harmonious tune. His phone continued vibrating.

Too quickly, he made his way to the station doors. Outside, he saw the most incredible sight. It looked like...drops of silver were falling from the sky. It was dark outside, nearly black as the Void above all their heads, but the streetlights were on and the "just rain" was flickering off the artificial lights in the most natural way possible. Tiny crystalline strings of liquid appeared to be falling and collecting on the ground. From the way it slanted, it looked like the wind was in effect. It was still a magnificent sight and Cecil felt the need to be a part of it. With a strong shove, he pushed both of the double doors open and walked outside.

At first, it felt strange. It reminded him of a shower, albeit a very cold one only reserved for the days where the temperature peaked to over 100 degrees. Those days where it was too hot to think, let alone be productive, and he and Carlos would sit in front of the air conditioning until one of them mustered the willpower to move. As the wind whipped his face and the "just rain" splattered his glasses, he couldn't help but think how wonderful it seemed. Why did Carlos want to keep this from him? This sort of thing, an event with no downsides, never happened in Night Vale. Why would Carlos keep him from happiness?

_"Cecil Gershwin Palmer."_

Without thinking, he turned towards the voice. A woman stood before him. He knew it was a woman because...well, he just knew. She was neither tall or short, fat or skinny, and he couldn't quite make out her facial features in the shadows, but he couldn't fight the feeling of recognition. He tried to move towards her, but he found his feet rooted to the spot.

"Cecil," she spoke, her voice carrying across the station's parking lot. Her voice filled him with conflicting feelings of comfort and dread. He wasn't sure of which emotion to trust at the moment. "Cecil, do you remember me? Do you remember any of us who have left?"

"O-Of course," he managed to stutter out. His voice only failed him in times of great turmoil, confusion, hopelessness, or embarrassment. Right now, it felt like a chasm had opened up inside his stomach and every insecurity he had was crawling out of it and into his head. It's kind of a graphic metaphor, but very accurate.

"Do you remember me?" The question came from a child, barely reaching the woman's shoulder in height. Once again, Cecil was hit with that feeling of familiarity, but couldn't quite place where it belonged or why it did in the first place.

"...No," he answered, shuddering as a sense of shame rushed through him. As he glanced around the parking lot, more silhouettes were emerging, asking the same question.

_"Do you remember me?"_

_"Hey Cecil, it's-"_

_"How about me?"_

_"You reported on me that time when-"_

_"Hi Mr. Radio Man!"_

_"Did you ever bother learning my name?"_

_"Can you tell me who I was?"_

_"The Voice of Night Vale speaks for us all..."_

_"What is it like, not knowing and knowing it all?"_

The voices were building and grating against his eardrums. All he wanted to do was put his hands over his head and scream as the "just rain" continued to wash over him, as the wind continued to howl and maybe if he got lucky, it would blow the voices away. His head felt like it was going to burst and the noise was crescendoing and swelling and he couldn't take it anymore. And then suddenly, it stopped, the cacophony replaced by a single Voice.

"What is it like to forget everything?"

It was him and the "just rain." It was him, only him, standing in the darkness of the universe with a single voice echoing through the cosmos. Needless to say, it did nothing for the migraine.

"I haven't forgotten everything," he replied cooly. "Only what I wish to forget."

"You have lost many, Cecil Palmer," the Voice continued. "You have lost many and gained little. You have seen the light in the darkness and the darkness in the light. You, Cecil Palmer, who cannot take anything at face value. You, who question your reality and strive to bring the truth to those around you. Well...as close of a facsimile of truth that you can provide. But in a sense, truth is all relative, is it not?"

"Why am I here?'

"You have lost many people. Your mother and brother for starters."

"I never had a brother," Cecil countered, even though the words felt all wrong. Strange, they'd always felt right before, truthful. Now, it felt as though he'd told the most slanderous of lies.

"You did, you simply refuse to believe the truth of reality. Perhaps that is why you bring your truth to others, give them something to believe in and give them a scapegoat when they finally see through the lives. They will blame you and not themselves."

"I fail to see the validity of your argument." Way to go Cecil, questioning a supposedly omniscient being. Again. Maybe Carlos was right about that self-preservation bit.

"Your family is no more. Your sister is with a man you disapprove of. You love her, yet it seems she has not reciprocated the affection in quite some time. Neither have you, but you refuse to when this man is around. Your best friend, you have lost him and though he has been returned to you, you have yet to rebuild the bridges the two of you have burned. Your friend from Europe, your fellow computer radio host, your interns...they have all perished at a force far greater than your own. And you are so very alone."

"No, I'm not," he protested, narrowing his eyes at the Void before him. "I have my-"

"Perfectly imperfect Carlos the scientist?" the Voice interrupted with a hint of amusement. "Yes, but how much longer will you have him? How long until the horrors of your reality take him away just as they have taken so many others? How long until he leaves, like the scoutmaster and the interns and your family? How much longer do you truly have?"

"As long as he permits," he replied. "As long as he wants to. I love him and he loves me, I know this. He would never leave me."

"You are unusually stubborn," the voice remarked snidely. "It is almost admirable. However, nothing lasts forever, especially in your lifetime."

"Haven't you heard? A radio host is unusually tenacious," he bit back with a sneer. "Carlos will not leave me. He will not!"

He could feel the entity around him chuckle. "A naive sentiment for one who's been through so much," the Voice stated. "What makes you think he won't leave?"

"He loves me and-"

"Oh... _love."_ The word was spat out the same way Cecil would've grounded out Steve Carlsberg's name on the radio. "You poor child, you are still so young. It explains so very much. Well, it appears as though life never taught you the lesson of ephemerality: things don't stay stagnant for long. Things change, for better or worse. You will lose your precious scientist one day and you will have no one to blame but yourself. This is not merely a prediction, but a warning. The scientist will leave just as your family has. The work days will grow longer and you will see less and less of each other until you barely see one another at all. The arguments will escalate and the nights alone will be unbearable. He will finally call it off and you will be left where you began. You will return to your rightful place as The Voice."

"N-No..." he mumbled, successfully moving forwards but tripping over himself. Cecil fell to the ground, jarring his chin as he did so, feeling as frigid water was absorbed through his clothing. "He's not l-like my mother. The business trips...I c-can remember them now. She was afraid. So was my brother." His head was pounding, the memories escaping as quickly as water escaped a sieve, but he grasped onto whatever he could. This time, he didn't want to forget.

"They feared the prophecy. They feared what I would become." The streetlights of the parking lot were too bright against his eyes, so he closed them and breathed heavily onto the pavement. "My mother...she remembered when Leonard became The Voice. She...she didn't want it to happen to me. But it did. She was afraid and she must've left when the mirrors were uncovered." So many details were sliding into place. Phantom pains ran along his body, a final reminder of that fateful night, when the name Cecil Gershwin Palmer was stolen from a fifteen year-old boy.

"I became him. I am him...but it feels so wrong now. It never has before because I am Cecil Palmer...and yet I am not." He coughed, still unmoving from his position. He barely registered the sound of a car pulling up to him. "I am an original and an impostor all in one."

_"Cecil!"_

He flinched as a warm (too warm, far too warm...) hand was placed on his shoulder. He was gently rolled onto his back. The lack of "just rain" on his skin was very noticeable and he craved to feel that "just rain" again. The revelations were slipping back into the dark recesses of his mind and he couldn't recover them, not like he could before. He  _needed_ the rain!

"Oh no, Cecil..." the person above him lamented. "I am so sorry, I should have warned you about just how this rain was affecting everyone. Cecil, people were jumping off of  _buildings_ because they couldn't handle 'the truth!' I was so nervous because the station has a tower and oh God, you're burning up..."

"No, I need the rain. I need to know...I..." His attempts at fighting off the hand failed quickly. He felt so tired, so soul-wrenchingly tired. He didn't have it in him to fight anymore and as the last of his external awareness slipped away, he managed to catch one last thought.

"I am the Voice...I have to be the Voice..." Cecil whispered. "And the Voice is just that: singular. It...is fate."

Carlos' frown deepened as he held Cecil in his free arm. His other hand was being used to hold the umbrella sheltering them from the rain. Once Cecil began muttering things about "darkness in the light," Carlos knew it was time to get him home. There was no doubt that his poor, sweet radio host was delirious and maybe a little hypothermic. He had to get him warm and in bed and somehow ease him out of the existential crisis of the ages. As carefully as he could, he draped a half-coherent Cecil over his shoulder and half-dragged, half-carried him to his car.

And as Cecil continued his ramblings about "the Voice," Carlos was sure to remind him that fate could just screw itself because damn it, Cecil wasn't going another day in his life without Carlos being there right beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *beep* End of side A. Please flip to side B.
> 
> Author Fun Fact: I am running some Welcome to Night Vale programs at Alternicon in Boston! So yeah, if you're going to be in area, come check it out. It's going to be a fun time and I have prizes for the game show. It's going to be a Weather game show and I will get super into character and I'm writing a script.
> 
> And as always, thanks for reading and if you've read my other stuff, thanks for checking that out too! :) The next chapter will be up either tomorrow or the day after.


	2. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cecil's thirst for knowledge knows no bounds and Carlos is drugged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, Chapter 2 just like I promised! Ha, I usually don't keep those...

The ride home was all kinds of stressful. Cecil was thoroughly drenched, shivering even in the relative warmth of the car. Carlos decided to let him lay down on the backseats, watching sadly as the radio host curled up as tightly as he could in a vain attempt to warm himself up. This was more than a case of mild hypothermia, it was also a dampening on Cecil's soul. He wasn't lying when he'd informed Cecil that citizens started jumping off of buildings. Many of them were saved by some survival instinct-triggered power and harmlessly floated to the ground and into the arms of awaiting officers of the Sheriff's Secret Police. Some were not as lucky and the City Council had to deal with a sudden influx in the ghost population.

The citizens who managed to escape the more violent side of their existential crises wandered the streets in a haze, simply muttering about darkness and light and how they were "not chosen." After about an hour or so in the rain, these people were unconsolable and mentally gone from the world. Carlos managed to reach Cecil within a half-hour of last hearing him on the radio and he prayed to whatever God or Demon that was native to Night Vale that he was not too late to save Cecil.

Thanks to Cecil's alert citizen card, Carlos managed to bypass every stop sign in his path. Hardly anyone was driving which, logically, made sense since Night Vale was prepared for everything except a seemingly normal rainstorm. If Cecil wasn't a danger to himself, Carlos would've taken a moment to chuckle. Leave it to Night Vale to be unsure of how to deal with normal. Then again, their version of normal included five headed dragons and friendly neighborhood stalkers, so he really wasn't sure how to apply the term "normal" to anything anymore.

As he pulled into his usual parking space at their apartment complex, Cecil let out a particularly pained whimper and began shivering more violently. Carlos quickly put the car into park, threw the keys in the pocket of is lab coat, and popped open the well-used umbrella. Getting Cecil out of the car proved to be more of a challenge than getting him in it. The man did not want to move, crying out phrases like "I am the light!" and "Nothing ever mattered..." into the crook of Carlos' arm. Forcing himself to overlook his boyfriend's obvious distress, Carlos managed to support most of Cecil's upper body with his shoulders and dragged him into the foyer of the building. He sighed in relief as he finally made it to the safety of the awning, apologizing mentally for every time he ever scrutinized the seemingly useless architectural apparatus. He'd have to use the word "seemingly" a bit less liberally in the future.

Leaving the umbrella under the awning (he didn't care if someone took it, Cecil was far more important), he balanced Cecil against his body as his now free hand opened the door. Once again, Carlos was thankful they lived on the first floor and not The Floor That Didn't Exist.

(They were supposed to live on The Floor That Didn't Exist after the whole fiasco with the condos, but Cecil managed to pull some strings and one of the members of the City Council owed him for something involving both of their lives. Carlos didn't bother asking too many questions, especially when asking said questions would force either Cecil or both of them to attend a mandatory re-education session. And this event was not something Cecil wanted to forget.)

Once they entered the apartment, Carlos made a beeline for their bathroom. Propping Cecil against the bathtub, he ran the water (and thank whatever was out there that the tub was actually running  _water_ ) until both of their glasses fogged up. He quickly and, semi-embarrassingly enough, expertly stripped Cecil of his clothing before carefully placing him in the bathtub. The clothes...ugh, Cecil was going to  _hate_  this, but they were soaked and he didn't exactly know the ramifications of keeping said clothing and Carlos didn't want to take chances, so he balled them up in a spare towel and placed them in the doorway of the bathroom. He'd take them to the lab later and run some tests on them once the water evaporated. Hopefully, they'd still be safe for use and Cecil would have something to look forward to when he got better. Besides, his favorite vest and socks were in that pile. If they didn't make it through, the whole of Night Vale wouldn't hear the end of it. Literally.

"...Alone in the dark and the light..." Cecil muttered. "Always, always alone...does it matter? No. Not in...the universe. It's so large..." Seeing his lover in the throws of an existential crisis always brought a pang of sorrow to Carlos' heart. He ran a hand through Cecil's soft, wispy hair as his other hand continuously cupped handfuls of warm water and poured it onto the other man's shoulders.

"Shhhh, Cecil," Carlos whispered. "I'm right here and I'm not leaving anytime soon. I don't know where you are mentally right now, and as fascinating as it might be to observe you, that is not something I want to do. Listen to me, look at me, whatever...just make your way back here, ok?" Cecil's shivering had calmed down immensely since the car ride, to which Carlos was incredibly grateful for. But his boyfriend definitely had a fever and the more spiritual part of him was still not 100% ok. Maybe 40%, but that was too low of a percentage to make Carlos stop worrying. Once the shivering stopped completely, Carlos wrapped Cecil in their softest towel (the one they always fought over on certain days) and dressed him in some sweatpants and a loose t-shirt and bundled him up in bed. The entire time, Cecil's eyes were closed. They had been since Carlos dragged him off the asphalt of the radio station's parking lot. He wasn't entirely sure if it was a good sign or a bad sign, but it wasn't as scary to look at as Cecil's half-lidded, glazed over eyes were. He vaguely wondered if this is what Cecil looked like after some of the more intense rounds of re-education, but the thought was quickly banished from his mind when he remembered his boyfriend mumbling about being alone and "the Voice."

What was the Voice anyways? Was it a physical manifestation of some sort of omnipotent being? Was it merely the aural manifestation of an omnipotent being? He wasn't sure and, unless Cecil was the one to bring it up, he wouldn't ask. He didn't want Cecil to relapse. No, he really, really didn't want that happening because when Cecil was existential, then things became scary. Those were the moments where Carlos considered hightailing it out of Night Vale and never looking back. But then the radio host would always bounce back with a cheerful comment about the community or his science or Carlos himself and the moment would pass. But that lingering sense of dread would stay and wait for the next slip-up, for the next indicator of things not entirely being ok. Well, nothing was truly ok. Life was always on some level of "ok."

And right now, as Carlos' gaze wandered over Cecil's exhausted face, he knew that they were going to be some form of ok. For now.

* * *

There was nothing. There was everything. There was nothing and everything and Cecil stood in the center of it all. All of life's paths and doors were open to him. He could see all of his options laid out before him, all that he ever was and could be, on one plane of existence. He didn't know why or how, but things that were previously locked away and lost were now open and inviting. Memories. The memories were his once again and he wanted to cry out in both joy and fear.

Did he really want to know the secrets that had been so well kept from him? Did he really want to unravel the mystery of those old, completely wrong cassettes? Did he want to know the answer to why?

Cautiously, he stepped forward and was pleased to find that, unlike previous journeys into the depths of his mind, the doors and paths did not move farther away. They simply existed in the correct time and place, never jumbling and never trying to escape his curiosity. Some part of him knew that the City Council would right this error in due time and that righting it would be excruciating and really not worth the time or effort, but curiosity had always been Cecil's weakness and he strode toward the last of his doors with purpose. As his fingers ghosted over the brass knob of the door, he began having second thoughts. What if what he saw was worse than anything he could've imagined? What if it just confirmed his suspicions? What would happen then?

But...what if he knew? What if he could figure out the truth of what happened on that tape? It sounded like he'd died and as much as he wanted to forget that little fact, he couldn't. Not even his best brandy could wash away that sense of mortality from his mind. Something that traumatic was hard to cover up. Re-education didn't even scratch that surface. At least, as far as Cecil was aware of. They could make him forget a lot of things, but a fear that strong was written into the soul. And that fear had come to the surface the minute he'd found the tapes in his closet. Off the air, he'd listened to them all, pondering what could've happened to his brother and mother and why his sister refused to talk about either of them. The next day, the tapes were gone and Cecil could only assume that the Sheriff's Secret Police confiscated them.

Which meant that nobody wanted him to know what happened. And since all of the horrible things that happened with StrexCorp, the rebellious nature that had manifested deep within Cecil had festered. Determined, he twisted the knob and threw the door open. He was going to take the chance. He didn't want to be left in the dark anymore. It was time to walk into the light.

_"What did I tell you about bringing your work home?"_

_"Shut it Gershwin, nobody cares."_

_"Cecil...what am I  going to do with you? Of course there's no flickering, it's probably just The Faceless Old Woman. You remember her, right?"_

_"Way to go Gershy, you're now the youngest citizen to ever be re-educated..."_

_"It's your prophecy Cecil, you have to fulfill it."_

_"You're lucky you actually like your prophecy. Something like that? You defy it, you die."_

_"He's protected as long as Leonard doesn't retire. That shouldn't be until after he's graduated Night Vale Community College."_

_"Hey Gershwin, I heard Leonard's prophecy changed."_

_"Cecil, you're going to be alright. I need to go on a business trip and your brother...well, your brother needs to leave too. We both do."_

_"Can't say it was nice knowing you, but, it hasn't been awful."_

_"The prophecy has been fulfilled."_

Two voices. Only voices. Voices that he didn't know and yet...he did. It was so confusing and he was gaining more questions than answers. But he was progressing towards the voice that was his own, the voice of a prepubescent, fifteen year-old, and his heart raced. Maybe now he could find out why he had to be alone. The prophecy never had specifics but with the sudden realization of the Voice being singular, well, it raised a few red flags. And the mirrors, maybe that could finally be solved too and then if that was solved, he could use a mirror again. He'd know what he looked like without having to rely on pictures. Pictures were unreliable in Night Vale, always coming out with some strange deformity on each one. The picture of himself that had resided on his desk was gone now. The deformation? Hollow eyes. He couldn't stand to look at it anymore.

Yet as he wandered closer to the truth, something shifted. Suddenly, he was not going forwards, but backwards. He was moving away from his goal and no matter how hard he tried, he was being forcefully removed from the long forgotten memory. No! This would be the one chance he had at answering the questions, the one time he could truly understand the prophecy, and he was losing it. Why was that? Why couldn't he have this one thing?

He felt dry.

That one realization shot through his subconscious as his astral projection slowly returned to consciousness. He wasn't in the "just rain" anymore. He was warm (almost uncomfortably so) and dry and where was the truth? Where did the revelations go? Parts of his mind began closing off again and he struggled to hold onto them. His fighting was in vain, for whatever the City Council wanted him to forget would remain untouchable and forgotten. He wanted to cry in frustration, wanted to scream his anger into the Void because it wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair that he couldn't know that one, simple thing.

"...Cecil? Cecil, are you awake?"

Out of pure reflex, his body relaxed. His breathing and heart rate evened out as his groggy mind began to stir. He knew that voice, cherished that voice above all other voices. That was Carlos, his Carlos, and he sounded both worried and relieved. Ah, his sweet, wonderful Carlos would help him. Perfectly imperfect Carlos would help lead him back to the truth.

Cracking open an eye, Cecil was greeted with the sight of Carlos reading some science-y book and holding a cup of coffee. He looked exhausted, like he'd spent at least two nights awake and running off of caffeine, sugar, and gut-wrenching worry. Cecil offered him a small smile and the last of the gut-wrenching worry disappeared.

"Hi Carlos," he rasped out. His throat felt dry and itchy, much like it did when he was unconscious for over forty-eight hours, give or take about fourteen minutes. Swallowing the meager amount of saliva in his mouth, he managed to speak in a much richer, but still not radio level, tone. "How long has it been, two days?"

"Just about," Carlos replied, folding over a corner of the page he was on before setting the book aside. He got up from the chair he'd been sitting on and knelt to Cecil's eye level. "How are you feeling?'

Cecil shrugged. "Better than going a round with Station Management, but worse than a mild re-education." Sadly, Carlos knew exactly how to read this scale.

"Could be worse?"

"Oh, definitely."

"Well," Carlos said in that tone he usually used for a science-related lecture. "You have a fever of about 37.8 degrees and you experienced some mild hypothermia." At Cecil's confused expression, he explained, "Celsius and you got really cold and that made you sick."

"Uh huh..." he mumbled, snuggling into the bedsheets. "So I'm ok now?"

"You're not going to feel well for a little while longer," Carlos informed with a frown. "But it could've been much worse. You went out into the rain and when I saw you lying on the ground I just...I got very, very worried. The rain did things to people, bad things, and everybody who's been exposed to it hasn't recovered completely yet, mentally or physically. I'm glad I got to you when I did but I had no way of knowing how you were when you were completely out of it."

Oh. So Carlos was the one who took him away from the truth. While his love for Carlos couldn't be broken by that fact, he did feel the sting of betrayal wash over him. Wasn't Carlos the one freaking out about Night Vale's secrets? Surely he would've encouraged Cecil's act of rebellion a little more, right? Like, really, did he not want Cecil to know the truth either? So what if the rain did some bad stuff to people? It didn't do anything bad to him! He  _needed_ the rain! He needed to know about everything that was being kept from him simply because he'd already had a taste of what it was. He'd been so very close to the answer and then to have it ripped away like that...no. No, he needed to know.

"Is it...still raining?" Cecil asked as innocently as he could. Carlos didn't seem to notice anything suspicious about the request and answered accordingly.

"Unfortunately, yes," he sighed, running a hand through his gorgeously pristine hair. "We're instructing everyone to stay inside until it lets up. From what I've gathered, it should pass over within the next ten or so hours. But until then, no one is going anywhere. The City Council even made exceptions seeing as one member ascended to a higher level of being in the middle of their meeting."

Huh, that only happened in especially enlightening circumstances...and now they were down one City Council member. That was going to be fun to report on when the time came. Maybe Hiram McDaniels could run for that and forget about his vendetta with Mayor Cardinal. But that wasn't important at the moment, what was important was that the "just rain" was still out there and Cecil needed it. He had ten hours to think of  _something_ because from the sound of it, Carlos was not letting him out of his sight. This would take all of his wit, scout badges, and knowledge of Carlos' tolerance to sleep-inducing drugs to plan. And he had less than ten hours to do it.

Fortunately, his mind was sharper than ever before. Every thought was clear and concise and he briefly wondered if this was how Carlos felt all the time, because Carlos was brilliant and so very smart and Cecil was just Cecil. He didn't know a lot and tended to act before he thought. Well, that was about to change. His eyes flicked over to the coffee cup in Carlos' hands and then back to the haggard expression on Carlos' handsome face. Carlos had probably been awake for the entirety of Cecil's unconsciousness, meaning he was far more susceptible to the drowsy drugs than usual. His memory, the unaltered one, supplied him with the knowledge of where Carlos stashed his allergy/cold meds and which ones were in liquid form. If he could get him to set the cup down, leave the room for an extended amount of time, and slip something called NyQuil into the mug before he came back, then he'd be able to go back to the "just rain" and finally understand  _everything._

Now...how was he going to do that?

The answer came all too quickly. Inwardly, Cecil smirked. Sometimes, he really loved tapping into the bitchy radio persona. And since he was sick, it just made it that much better. He'd apologize to Carlos later but for now, he really wanted to get back to the "just rain."

"Carlosssssss..." he whined in the most pathetic tone he could muster.

"What's wrong Cecil?" Carlos asked, the worry flooding back onto his face. He placed his half-filled mug on the table and ran a hand through Cecil's hair. "Do you need something?"

"Do you mind?" Cecil put on his best childish pout. Carlos melted in his hands. Wow, he felt bad about manipulating his caring, amazing boyfriend...but the truth was more important right now.

"Not at all," he replied with a smile. "What do you need?"

"Well..." And with that word, Cecil's entire demeanor shifted. "There's a package of tea I usually make when I'm not feeling well. It's in the highest cabinet over the stove so The Faceless Old Woman knows it's off-limits. The water should be close to boiling, but not quite, so it takes extra vigilance to watch it, especially with the stove we have. Let it soak for no more than 87 seconds and remove the tea bag. I take it with a drop of milk and a half-teaspoon of honey." Just as quickly, his attitude switched back to the most pathetic, suffering creature to have ever existed within Night Vale's borders. "W-Would you...would you mind making it?'

Carlos was a bit taken aback by the request, mostly by the specifics of it, but Cecil knew he'd already committed the (somewhat ridiculous) instructions to memory. "Alright Cecil, I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't move, ok?"

"Ok..." he whispered, smiling slightly. "Carlos, you are the most perfectly imperfect boyfriend a lowly radio host could ever ask for!"

"Don't talk about yourself like that," the scientist replied softly. He leaned over to kiss Cecil's forehead and then he was off. As soon as Cecil heard the tell-tale sign of their stepping stool being unfolded, he knew it was time to move.

Gracelessly kicking the sheets off himself, Cecil jumped out of bed, only to be brought down by a wave of lightheadedness. He hadn't completely realized it before, but he felt like absolute crap. His throat was bothering him, his nose was starting to become congested, and his hands would not stop shaking. Clearing his head of his physical discomforts, he slowly and quietly made his way into their bathroom.

Every step was a battle. His body was exhausted beyond belief and he felt as though he could pass out right then and there. But the need for the truth spurred him on and he muffled his squeak of delight when his hand wrapped around the bottle labeled NyQuil. He heard the tea kettle begin to whistle as Carlos let out a stream of curses. It was kind of impressive how closely Carlos was following his instructions. Honestly, a lot of the steps weren't really part of Cecil's routine. The bit about water temperature? Ridiculous! Although, the 87 seconds were definitely important. Any more than that and the tea was too strong for Cecil's liking.

Making it back into bed, Cecil threw the sheets over his body and attempted to read the directions on the bottle. It was so hard though. Cecil needed his glasses for reading whereas Carlos needed his for distance. Walking into the bathroom and finding the correct bottle from ten feet away? Easy! Reading the correct serving size on the bottle's fine print? Nearly impossible.

In the end, Cecil decided to round and used the cap as a good guestimate. He poured the liquid into Carlos' coffee and quickly stashed the medicine inside his pillow case just as Carlos entered the room with his tea.

"Sorry, the water boiled so I had to make some quick calculations of how much cold water to add to the kettle to get the temperature to even out," he explained sheepishly, handing the mug over to Cecil. Taking a sip, Cecil hummed in contentment.

"It's perfect," he purred, leaning his head on Carlos' shoulder. Carlos ran another hand through his hair before picking up the coffee mug and taking a long draught from it. Cecil smiled. Soon enough, he'd be reunited with the truth. He watched as his scientist drained the last of the liquid with barely contained glee.

Carlos' face scrunched up in disgust as he eyed the now empty mug suspiciously. "Hey Cecil, did you manage to catch the Faceless Old Woman slipping anything into my coffee?"

"Nope," Cecil said with ease. It wasn't a total lie. After all, the Faceless Old Woman wasn't even involved.

"Ok, then maybe it's just because of how cold it got," Carlos reasoned. He shrugged. "Oh well."

As Cecil sipped at his tea, he watched Carlos' eyes droop more and more. He chuckled at the way Carlos' head would begin to sink downwards, only to pop back up once his chin hit his chest. It was all very amusing, but now Cecil was beginning to feel impatient. He wanted to know the truth and if Carlos would just fall asleep  _faster_ , then he'd have his chance. Just as Carlos was stifling his fourteenth yawn, Cecil decided to intervene.

"Carlos, when's the last time you slept?" he asked casually. At least Carlos was humble enough to look embarrassed.

"...Not since before I brought you home," the scientist replied. "I...I should probably get some sleep, shouldn't I?"

"Yes," Cecil said with a nod. "I'll be fine for a few hours and I'll wake you up if I need anything, ok?"

Carlos was too exhausted to argue. In fact, he didn't even bother changing out of his clothes as he climbed into the bed next to Cecil. He managed to whisper a goodnight before his breaths evened out and he was dead to the world. Just as a test, Cecil poked his nose. Carlos twitched, but did not awaken.

Good.

With barely contained excitement, Cecil slipped out of bed and made his way towards the door. As soon as he was clear of the bedroom, all coordination and cautiousness were replaced by a soul-deep urge for knowledge. The truth would be his. Cecil didn't notice as the apartment door slammed loudly behind him or that the force of it managed to knock down the framed picture beside it or that both noises were loud enough to startle Carlos into awareness. All he cared about was the truth and knowing the truth and  _what did his prophecy really mean?_

And as he finally,  _finally_ , burst out into the "just rain," the doors were back and he was walking along the paths of his past and he was running, running towards the door that knew all of the answers...

The voices overwhelmed him again and suddenly, everything was painful. He was oversensitive and knowing  _hurt_ and the revelations were coming too quickly and too numerously for his mind to properly sort through. Everything became a blur and his past and future and present were mushing together and were indecipherable from one another and it was too much, far too much for any one person to handle.

By all accounts, the truth should have killed him. But suddenly, all too suddenly, everything came to a screeching halt and he was floating. He could neither tell up from down, left from right, and nothing lay before or after him. He simply existed and in that moment, that felt like enough. And then he was in front of the radio station, looking up at the tower with more affection than he'd ever felt for it before. He loved the radio, loved being the Voice...and he understood.

He finally understood the title and all that it held. He understood his importance in Night Vale and what exactly he did to keep the balance. As much as he loathed it, he understood why Kevin existed as well and understood the struggle that he'd never completely be free of. StrexCorp, Outsiders, Night Vale customs, the strange paradoxes he'd managed to construe with that space marshall...it all made sense.

And it crushed him.

He understood and suddenly, that craving for knowledge was turned into fear because his suspicions had been confirmed. He was scared, terrified, for what the future would hold. If the past that had been revealed to him was true, then it was an indicator for the future. Without thinking, he entered the radio station. He nearly choked on Station Management's feelings of self-depreciation and apathy, a first since he'd started his job as a radio host, and entered his booth. With dilated pupils and shaking hands, he locked the door of his booth and reached for his mic and headset. Night Vale needed to know, they needed to experience what he was experiencing.

Cecil was soaked from the rain, but the ice-cold sensation strengthened his resolve. The citizens of Night Vale needed to know exactly what the Voice entailed, what the title really meant because its meaning had been lost and warped over time.

More importantly, a certain perfectly imperfect scientist needed to understand that Cecil loved him and it wasn't because of him that the decision was made. Cecil would love him for all eternity, but with the prophecy, he wasn't even granted that.

No, because the Voice of Night Vale was a singular title. The Voice of Night Vale was one person's burden to bear. And as the Voice, that is exactly what Cecil was bound to and would be bound to for the remainder of his sorry existence. He had no one because fate made it so. And if the powers beyond mandated it, then what else could Cecil do but give in to its demands?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Fun Fact: I've e-mailed Dylan Marron before. He types like Carlos talks. He's a cool guy. I don't think he'll ever contact me again though. Oh well.
> 
> Also I lied. It got longer. Y'all are getting three chapters of this. Wow, this got so out of hand. I am not sorry.


	3. The Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cecil broadcasts, Carlos worries, and fluff finally commences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real ending of the story. Really. Really, really. Also I'm going to break 15,000 words for I am determined.

One of Cecil's biggest flaws, aside from his complete lack of self-preservation, was his impulsiveness. Once he got an idea in his head, he'd simply go with it before he could even bother thinking of the consequences. For instance, riding that damned subway to who knows where and leaving Carlos to worry about whether or not Cecil would come back or, if he did, what kind of state he would be in upon his return. He nearly punched the radio host, but he'd looked far too pale and sickly by the time Carlos got to him, so he had to settle for a scolding and cuddles. Cecil was later re-educated and forgot most of what he saw, but that wasn't so important as much as it was worrying. The Sheriff's Secret Police had assured him that there wouldn't be any adverse affects on Cecil's already fragmented mind, but the scientist occasionally caught his lover staring off into space muttering about the ephemeral nature of the universe and everything in it. Still, those spells got better with time until the spacing out only lasted about five seconds.

Carlos wasn't entirely sure why he was thinking of this as he lay on what felt like a giant cotton ball. Why was he worrying about Cecil's impulsive nature? Cecil was resting, as he should be, right beside him and he was dry and out of the rain that carried existentialism and he was  _fine._  His radio host was always some degree of fine.

He felt something shift, but waved it off as nothing. Well, not so much as waved as snorted through his nose and sighed, relaxing further into the fluffy surface. It was over, he could stop worrying, and he could just  _sleep-_

_**SLAM!** _

_**CRASH!** _

His body spasmed in surprise, eyes stubbornly remaining shut while the rest of his senses kicked into gear. That was a door slamming, too loud to be from a car, and something falling to the ground. Drowsy and half-asleep, Carlos reached an arm over to Cecil's side of the bed. Because of his childhood in Night Vale, Cecil had an ingrained flinch reflex that was trigger by just about anything and everything. Spider on his arm? He would jump five feet in the air and give let out a particularly unmanly yelp. Confronted by a dangerous individual? He'd duck and cover and defend himself in any way possible. Loud noises? Carlos really wanted to record the consistency of those jump scares.

As his wandering hand met air, everything came to a stop. His eyes snapped open and he literally sprang into action. He felt groggy and uncoordinated, but the fear and worry masked that feeling tenfold and soon, adrenaline was doing its job. Out of habit, Carlos grabbed for his glasses on the nightstand, only to find that they were still on his face. Seeing as the bridge of his nose didn't feel terribly irritated, he figured that he hadn't been asleep for that long. But that was long enough for Cecil to leave.

"Oh no," he muttered, stumbling into the bathroom only to find it empty as well. "Oh please no..." He skidded to a stop in front of the kitchen. Nothing. The living room. Nope. Hell, even the closet was devoid of any sight of Cecil. Where could he have gone? What if...

What if he'd gone back outside?

That was equal parts worrying as it was frustrating. He'd specifically told Cecil what exactly the rain had done to people and how most of the citizens weren't recovering at all and damn it, he'd been so relieved that Cecil had some away even remotely unscathed. How could not have noticed that Cecil was still under the rain's influence? His mind supplied that he'd been overtired and running on an ungodly amount of coffee, but still. A scientist had to know how to run on no sleep and coffee for at least forty-eight hours so they could work on projects and keep schedules and whatnot.

No, he was distracting himself. He had to find Cecil. But...how would he even find Cecil? Assuming that he'd gone out in the rain, how was he supposed to find his boyfriend without becoming susceptible to the rain himself? Searching all of Night Vale could take hours and Cecil could be anywhere. That man knew about more hidden passageways and secret locations than he let on, for fear of re-education. The only one who could properly rival that knowledge was Earl Harlan, and he was allowed to know because, hello, Eternal Scout.

Last time had been so much easier. He knew where Cecil was and that he couldn't have travelled too far from the radio station. And the Sheriff's Secret Police who were fortunate enough to be dressed in actual rain ponchos had kept an eye on him while keeping Carlos updated on his whereabouts. Now, the SSP were probably running damage control and figuring out how re-education could actually help restore some citizens to their former mindset. While he wasn't too keen on the idea, it was the only idea any of them really had, so all he could do was hope that it would work...and that maybe when (not if) he found Cecil, he would be strong enough to handle it.

Without any warning, the radio in the kitchen switched on. The sound of static filled the apartment, sending shivers down Carlos' spine. He didn't like the sound of dead air, not when Cecil was on nearly every night comforting the town with his words and his voice. Just as he was about to switch it off, a cough travelled through the air and froze Carlos in his tracks.

"Hello...listeners..." It was Cecil. His voice sounded ragged and worn and so, so defeated. If it hadn't been for the tone in which those two words were spoken, Carlos would've melted into a puddle of pure relief. Although, that sounded gross and since Night Vale could actually make mental similes real on certain Tuesdays, Carlos quickly took it back while thinking of a good counter simile in case the last one came true.

"Listen-" Cecil was cut off by a hacking cough. It took a moment for Carlos to realize that the sound actually came from Cecil. That noise had been so much worse than the static of dead air, so much worse than Kevin's voice during the "Company Picnic." And that's when Carlos started contemplating what exactly his boyfriend was and what he possessed. That feeling of wrongness only grew worse as Cecil's coughing continued and it wasn't just because this was Carlos listening to the man he loved suffer. No, that was there, but the all-encompassing feeling of void began to take over. Carlos vaguely noted to himself to test out some of his theories later, when Cecil was better of course, but his thoughts didn't wander much more as Cecil regained his breath.

"Sorry, listeners." There was a clearing of a throat and the wrongness subsided slightly. The host's voice was still a mess, but at least he was talking. "It appears that Station Management m-may have to grant a sick day after all." Carlos snorted, typical Cecil, worried about his job more than he worried about himself or his safety.

"I have some...disturbing and enlightening news," he continued. "I...have learned The Truth. I have seen it with my own eyes and I know not if I should embrace it or reject it. This town...Night Vale, it is  _terrible_ here, but I have always loved it and I have loved you and I have come to love everything - well, most things - about my life and what it has become. I love my niece, Janice, I love my sister, I love Big Rico's and the Tourniquet although I've never actually eaten there and I love the Drawbridge - coming Fall 2015 by the way - and the City Council and, of course, my Carlos. But, love can only take us so far. Love blinds us from The Truth and now that I have seen it, I cannot take it back. I am changed, listeners, and I cannot take it any longer. I know what I truly am, what Leonard Burton was before me and he before the last host and so on. The Voice of Night Vale is far more than any title can contain, but it is the best we have and I will try my best to explain it all."

"He can't do that," a feminine voice whispered into Carlos' ear. To Carlos' credit, he didn't even flinch. The Faceless Old Woman had had enough secret midnight conversations with him that he'd grown accustomed to her voice popping up out of nowhere. It only took him a few weeks to condition himself not to get too spooked when she showed up unannounced. Which was to say...every time she ever wanted to talk to him.

"Why not?" he asked, eyes never leaving the radio, as if it held all the answers. He was entranced with the object, waiting for the next sentence to start spilling out of it.

"A few reasons, the most pressing being that he will end up destroying himself with this knowledge," she replied. "His sickness is his body and mind rebelling from what he has learned. It's...how do I put this in a way your simple, young mind can understand? Whatever teachings of Night Vale have stuck with him, they are in effect now. The sickness is trying to push him over into delirium so hopefully, he can naturally believe that all of this was a fever-induced night terror with limited damage to his psyche. But with this dreadful rain working against him, those skills we've instilled within him are not working. He needs to be stopped before he reveals too much, for the sake of this town and for the sake of his life." Although she wasn't visible, Carlos turned his head away from the radio to try and look her in the eye. "You need to stop him before he either burns himself out or Station Management decides to intervene. And I promise you that with either option, you won't get a body back."

Carlos was out the door faster than the Faceless Old Woman could roll her eyes. People in love were easy to manipulate. She hadn't been lying about Station Management, they would harm Cecil physically and mentally, but her first priority to the town was protecting its secrets. And the Voice of Night Vale? That wasn't one that could be revealed. That was a secret so ingrained in their culture that revealing it would destroy them all.

After all, she didn't want to end up like their doubles in Desert Bluffs.

* * *

 

Cecil was shivering again despite the warmth of his recording booth. He'd managed to barricade the door with his chair, forcing him to stand as he broadcasted his message. The headphones were askew on his head, only managing to cover one ear completely, as his hands remained in a vice grip around the base of his microphone. He was pacing from one end of the booth to the other, trying to calm his nerves as well as get rid of how trapped he felt. Trapped, in this reality, with a title that was far more than a title and a job that would be the death of him. The mirrors, the loneliness, the radio; they all made sense now. There was the enemy of sound and self, the reason why nobody ever stuck around, and the medium to control the masses. One word and they were his. One word and they perished. One word, all it took was one wrong word, and he could end everything.

Wow, it sucked being at the center of a great, ancient power source.

And with that much power, Cecil was afraid of himself. He could destroy everything if he used the "gift" wrong. It wasn't a gift, it was a curse. It was why he couldn't be around mirrors and why his family left him. That's why everyone left him, because they knew about the power before he ever did and they didn't want to be near him. He was a curse to them all and no, he couldn't take that. He couldn't handle that.

He was dizzy and sweating and shivering and his knuckles were growing whiter and whiter and nothing made sense anymore. Except, The Truth made sense. Yes, that made a lot of sense. He was sharing his knowledge, sharing The Truth because everyone should know what exactly The Voice entailed. They deserved to know what The Voice could and would do. This was a secret he could share, one that needed to be known as fact, because it affected everyone.

"Listeners," he started before shaking his head. No, that didn't sound right, very unprofessional. If he was going to drop this bombshell, he was going to do it properly. Maybe they'd all remember how much he cherished this job once he resigned. He licked his lips, attempting to clear his throat of a constant obstruction, and continued. "Listeners, there are many things we do not know. We do not know how far away the moon is and why we cannot reach it by throwing various canned goods and children at it. We do not know of Angels, for their existence is illegal and therefore not real. We do not know of literature or true love or the lights above the Arby's. We do not know a lot and, usually, that's ok. Everything is truly ok. But not this. Listeners, I will share with you what I know, of what the rain has bestowed upon me. I saw lines in the sky and the picture they painted was breathtaking and terrible. I have seen the darkness in the light and the light in the darkness. Night Vale, it is time you knew the truth about The Voice of Night Vale. I know now and as your current living radio host, I feel as though I should tell you everything. You have listened to me so many times before and I thank you for that. But please, listen to me one last time because it is more important than any traffic report or community calendar I have recited before." He paused to both build the dramatic suspense (he was a show man at heart) and catch his breath. "Please-"

_"Cecil!"_

His head whipped towards the muffled shout. The recording booth wasn't completely sound proof, but noises that did manage to get through were never picked up by the mic. That was the most important part and Station Management had tested the set-up themselves once upon a time.

Cecil's eyes narrowed in confusion as he made out the concerned expression on his boyfriend's face through the glass on the door. Carlos was banging on the door, continuously trying to turn the knob before going back to banging. They locked eyes and Cecil just about fainted where he stood. His perfectly imperfect Carlos was here, most likely to support him as he spoke The Truth. Oh, he would be so proud of him, he just knew it! But then why did Carlos look like he was about to cry? Did he do something wrong? Or worse, did something happen to Carlos?

Panic broke through all other emotions as he quickly removed the chair obstructing his boyfriend's path. Before he could get a word out, Carlos wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug. Through his soaked clothing, he could feel the warmth of Carlos' body pressed against his own and he sank into the sensation. His mind was foggy, barely latching on to coherent thought anymore as his core temperature rose due to factors that did not have anything to do with Carlos at all.

"Carlossss..." he slurred. "Wha's happening?"

"Don't talk," the scientist replied soothingly. Breaking from the hug, he carefully removed Cecil's headphones and hung them on the peg beside the sound booth. Once that was accomplished, he wrapped his warm hands around the ice cold ones with a death grip on the microphone. "Cecil," he said softly. "You can stop broadcasting now. You  _need_ to stop." Without any hesitation, Cecil was frantically shaking his head.

"No Carlos," he trembled, his voice and thought regaining some fervor. "Everyone needs to know. I am a monster, was made to be one. They don't understand what I do to them, what I do to you. Oh Carlos..." Their eyes met once again but this time, Cecil looked far more feverish and far more determined. "I am supposed to be alone. No one else has had a spouse or a lover or even a pet! And I have two of those on the list! Carlos, you should not love me and I was a fool for thinking it. The Voice is singular and for good reason. We'd destroy ourselves otherwise simply by destroying the ones we love. And in the grand scheme of the universe, does it really matter? My existence is a fraction of history and unimportant in the long run. We are all insignificant creatures all destined to die one day. Every day brings us closer to death. Every day is limited. Every moment, every breath brings us closer to the end and we cannot fight it. We cannot fight fate." His hands refused to release the mic.

"That may be true Cecil," Carlos replied. "Yes, we are all destined to die and our collective existence is fairly insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe. But our existence is ours and only we can make the most of it. We chose how we want to make the most of it. You've told me a little about your prophecy and how your life is mapped out before your eyes. Well, I don't think your prophecy mentioned an Outsider scientist wandering into town and falling in love with the single most amazing man in the world. Fate may call some shots, but you are the one making your life work the way you want it to. You are a factor in your overall equation. And you, as a sentient being, control who you love and who you want to spend the rest of your life with."

"They're gone." Cecil's voice was no more than a whisper, the fight beginning to drain from his body and his shivering increasing. "There is a reason they left and it was because of me becoming what I am. What makes you so different?"

"Well first off, I'm not from around here." That got a small grin out of the somber radio host. "Second of all, you don't know that for sure. You're the one who admitted to having memory gaps. Are those gaps filled now?"

"...Not exactly."

"Cecil, I've listened to you for over two years now. Please, listen to me when I say this: you aren't thinking properly. The rain had certain qualities to it that make you think like this. And while I realize some of this is part of your subconscious issues that, mind you, we will address later, most of it is the rain. You are usually so optimistic and joyous. You are the light in the darkness and you can be the darkness in the light. We can all be, at some point in our lives. But talking about your life, your existence, in such a careless way is not you. You've lived your life to the fullest every day and while sometimes I think you go overboard and could really learn some survival skills, it is something I admire. Cecil, I love you just the way you are, as The Voice of Night Vale to everything else in between. Maybe we can't fight fate, but we can chose which paths to take and what to experiment with. And in a world where every day is limited, then I don't want to go another day without you."

Before either of them could say another word, Carlos pulled the microphone down to waist-level, forcing Cecil's arms to move with it, and closed the space between their lips. In that moment, nothing else mattered to Cecil but Carlos. The fear and the dread that had knotted itself inside of him uncurled as he sank deeper into their kiss. Suddenly, things didn't seem as pressing anymore. The Truth didn't feel like a truth and the knowledge he'd gained was escaping him. However, he didn't bother to reach for it. He didn't want to commit it to memory. In a world of exchange, some things must be forgone for better, richer things. This kiss, one of many, he was sharing with Carlos? This was something worth committing to memory and in the course of his life, he'd rather remember this than The Truth.

The storm clouds surrounding Night Vale broke away as the kiss between two lovers came to a close. The constant pitter-patter of rain was no more and the hot desert sun, while setting, was visible once again. Night Vale breathed a collective sigh of relief, finally saved from the rain and The Truth.

In the recording booth, Cecil smiled lazily and planted a kiss on his scientist's forehead. "My sweet, handsome Carlos..." he mumbled, just as his legs refused to support his weight any longer. Somehow, Carlos managed to catch both him and the microphone before they went crashing to the ground. Carefully, Carlos untangled the mic from Cecil's cold, clammy hands and returned it to its perch on the desk. Slinging Cecil's arm over his shoulders for the second time that day, Carlos carefully brought them both to their feet.

"Think you can help out this time?" Carlos asked, slipping a hand around Cecil's waist.

"Think so," he replied, turning his head to the side so he could cough. "How'd you not get wet?"

"I drove and my umbrella was actually still under the awning."

As they stepped outside of the radio station, the deep magenta sky of the setting sun hit their eyes. Despite their tired, weary conditions, they both sat down on the steps of the station's doors and watched as color turned to Void. And this time, neither felt like screaming in terror or interrupting their silence. They sat, content, in each other's company and simply existed.

* * *

 

"Carlossssssssssss..."

"Yes, Cecil?"

"I'm booooooooooooored!"

"So you've said."

"Can I pleeeeeeeeeeeease do my show tonight? It's nearly been a week and I can feel Station Management's disappointment from here."

"Oh, so that's where that overwhelming feeling of disappointment came from?"

"Yep. The last time this happened was when I was battling Lyme disease. Nearly dying apparently isn't good enough for a pay raise...or a decent sick day agreement."

Silence.

"Carlos?"

"Yes?"

"I'm soooooooooo boooooooooooored..."

Carlos sighed and closed his book. This had been the routine for the last thirty-six hours. Whenever Cecil was conscious, he'd grab him a glass of water and a cup of tea, try to get him to eat something, and then be forced to listen to his boyfriend's pathetically annoying whines. At one point, Carlos found it cute. But after a few hours of the same thing, it was starting to grate on his patience.

Flicking out the thermometer, Carlos pressed the power button and stuck it under Cecil's tongue before the other man could reply. After a few seconds, it alerted the whole world it was done by emitting a series of psychic beats. Cecil winced as the pulses aggravated his headache and in response, Carlos ran a hand through his hair.

"36.8," Carlos informed cheerfully. "Looks like your fever finally broke."

"Oh, finally." Cecil sighed in relief and smiled. He could go back to work soon and he would actually be able to do things again.

"I want to keep you here tonight, just in case of any relapses both mental and physical. If everything checks out, then you can do the show tomorrow and we can go out to dinner." Work and dinner? Carlos knew how to treat a man.

"That'd be neat," he replied sleepily. "So, do you really think I'm all better?"

"Well, since the rain stopped, everyone who clocked the same amount of exposure time as you resumed their normal train of thought without assistance from re-education. Others with more exposure had to be re-educated in order to get back to their lives. And others, well, their stories didn't wrap up so nicely." Carlos caught the slight frown on Cecil's face. Night Vale, despite its horrors and Glow Clouds, had a very strong sense of community. Even if Cecil didn't know the deceased personally or very well beyond name and face, it still invoked that sense of loss.

"I'll be sure to get a list and announce their names tomorrow." It wasn't even a question. Carlos didn't have it in him to argue that tomorrow was still a giant maybe.

"Don't worry about it right now, focus on being ok for tomorrow."

They sat in silence for a moment, neither particularly knowing how to continue. Finally, Cecil broke the silence.

"...Carlos?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

"About what?"

"About...everything. What happened last week, I...I didn't want you. I felt it in the very core of my being, that being with you felt so wrong and taboo and I  _told_ you that..." He trailed off at a momentary loss for words. "Carlos, I love you. I love you so much and I never told you - never reassured you - that everything I said? All lies. The Truth, whatever it is, pales in comparison to our truth. And that truth is simply that I will follow you to the ends of the Earth and I will love you until my dying breath. Even if we are no longer together by the end of our lives, I will look back on this, on us, and I will never, ever regret any of it."

"Let's not talk that far in the future," Carlos said with a smile. With a yawn, he climbed into bed with Cecil and put an arm around him. "Let's focus on the present because this is the point in our time streams that we are existing in. All other points are irrelevant. We cannot change the past and we do not know of the future. Let's make the most of right here and right now and see where it takes us."

"Mmm, spoken like a true scientist," Cecil hummed in contentment.

"Said like a true radio persona."

They stayed like that, cuddled and safe beneath the sheets of their shared bed. In the end, it was Carlos who fell asleep first, arms wrapped around Cecil's chest both in a loving and protective embrace. Cecil was left to reflect on the events of the past week, everything that had gone so perfectly right and everything that had gone so completely wrong. In the shadows of Night Vale, a few entities did the same thing. Oh, how close the radio host had come to destroying everything! Had he not forgotten The Truth, things could have been far more disastrous. They were lucky that this Voice was especially chatty and poetic. Always had to make things sound good, that he did. But a relapse was possible. The mind hides information despite the Sheriff's Secret Police's attempts to dispose of it. It was only a matter of time until Cecil unlocked the answers and who knew what would happen then.

But that's an issue for another day, a conflict for another story. For now, Cecil was on the edge of sleep and awareness. His body was starting to relax with his mind not too far behind.

There are those days and there are  _those_ days. There are those days when things go perfectly and everything within the time period of said day was wonderful and excellent and you wouldn't change a thing. There are  _those_  days when you feel down and it feels like life is against you at every turn and just when you want ice cream, you discover that you have none. And there are  _tho_ se days that are neither bad or good, crappy or delightful, and you continue on your way without a complaint and without some happy commentary.

But the jurisdiction of what kind of day it is comes from you. And as Cecil closed his eyes and snuggled closer to Carlos, he realized a few things. One, his boyfriend knew just what to say to bring him out of an existential crisis that would make Grendel cringe. Two, he could control his life the way he wanted to control it. He chose to fulfill his prophecy and he chose to break tradition and take up a lover. No ancient law would get in his way. The only thing holding him back had been himself. He'd have to remember to use that as a show closer one night.

He focused on Carlos' arms around his still exhausted body, how Carlos' exhales tickled his skin, and how right it felt to love the man beside him. He'd been told once, in another lifetime, that he had a big heart. As he drifted off to sleep in the arms of his lover, he couldn't help but agree and hold onto that love as long as possible.

After all, a radio host was unusually tenacious.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Fun Fact: Apparently, Hal Lublin has a video of Cecil Baldwin twerking. I'm currently awaiting the day when it's unleashed upon us all. Probably during November or when we least expect it.
> 
> I did not break 15,000 words. Damn it.
> 
> Alright, we've finally reached the end of this little long fic. Once again, thanks for reading, commenting kudos-ing, and whatever else you do that shows affection. Have a bloody fantastic day and always remember to lock your car.


End file.
